Stories I forgot to tell

We have a beginning-of-week and end-of-week story. Both (I think) are awesome. But the end-of-week story is the one which, if I know my friends and family (and I flatter myself that after twenty-two years I've picked up a few things), will make people squeal with delight and/or leave lots of comments expressing their opinions. (Shameless hint? Naaahhh...)

And because after twenty-two years you should know me, it should be no surprise that you get the beginning-of-week story first!

Last Saturday, which started the Week of Busy Greatness and Sisterly Affection, Helen and I raced from the bus stop to St. Anne's and from St. Anne's to the train station in less than an hour to make the train to Salisbury. Helen, you should know, had not slept since 8 AM the previous day. So she was drowsy. Sweet and wonderful, of course, but also irritable in that cute-but-terrifying way she has when she HAS NOT HAD ENOUGH SLEEP.

For the record: she took none of this out on me. In fact, she was a champion - a fantastic traveling companion, a hardworking conversationalist (awkward story that perhaps I will tell in person), and as charming and wonderful as she could be. Just so you don't get the wrong idea.

Anyway. We've made our train connection, and she's starting to show how much she's running on empty. Right then, this woman plunks down next to the people right across the aisle from our seats and starts talking IN A VERY LOUD VOICE with an intriguing and unplaceable accent about...her cell phone. She just got it last week, see, and when she got it last week she could leave it on for a week and it would be fine, but now it doesn't hold a charge for more than a few days, and these are the details about the charging process, and here's the phone plan she got, and this is her great-aunt Mildred's picture which is totally relevant even though great-aunt Mildred didn't know what a cell phone was, and...

Okay, I added the bit about great-aunt Mildred. BUT THE REST IS ALL TRUE. This woman talked about absolutely nothing. And yet, somehow, absolutely everything. Forever. Someone flipped the switch, and she did not stop. All quite loudly.

About halfway through the cell phone monologue, Helen looked at me. And I became very glad that I was sitting between her and this woman, because I think she would have ripped the woman's throat out if she'd been a little closer.

I KNEW she would have ripped the woman's throat out when, about half an hour later, the woman had moved on to talking about cheese. (I told you: NOTHING AND EVERYTHING.) "Kraft Singles are the only kind of cheese Americans know about," she declared, with the complete weight of authority behind every word. "You ask for cheese anywhere in America and that's what you get."

At which point Helen looked at me again. And we just cracked up. We were sitting right across from them, and I think they must have noticed, but we couldn't help it. Two Americans, right there, who in fact prefer goat cheese and brie and mozzarella, and - whoops, sorry, there goes my American citizenship. If I don't think of Kraft Singles as cheese, I clearly can't be American. The Woman With the Carrying Voice of Indeterminate Nationality has proclaimed it to be so.

The end-of-week story can be summed up much more quickly. In three words:

I GOT DRUNK!!!

Yes! Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your Pimm's! It has happened!!

Helen and I had dinner on Thursday night at high table at Brasenose College (one of the really old colleges in Oxford), thanks to the charming and hilarious Stephen Smith, who was sweet enough to invite us both. This dinner included the students on Steve's program, who were all funny and smart and completely welcoming. At this dinner, I drank a glass of red wine and a sh*t-ton of really good port (for you, Cheryl!). I can't tell you how much port, because I frequently topped-off more than I filled a new cup, but the table managed to annihilate four bottles.

At that point I had to go to the bathroom. The stairs were a little tricky. When I started laughing (by/at myself) instead of navigating them better, it occurred to me that I might not be in full control.

And from there it just got better. We went to the college bar, and I had two Pimm's and played quite a few arcade trivia games (and knew the answers even in my state!). Then about eight of us stumbled outside and walked down to a club, where I had the most fun dancing that I have ever had in my life. I'm making it a rule now. Before I dance, I must get drunk. I'm so much less awkward and self-conscious. And I have a FANTASTIC time! (I'm a happy drunk. I giggle a lot.)

This story does have a moral, for all you impressionable people out there. When I woke up the next morning, I felt groggy and ill. And I vomited into the toilet bowl. That part was gross. But awesome. The same way that bleeding onto my toe shoe was awesome. Rite-of-passage thing.

I may have to do this more often...!